


A Path Traveled Before

by icandrawamoth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Bathing/Washing, Comfort Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Piningjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassin's Creed AU. Jehan is an Assassin who doesn't like killing. Grantaire is a bureau leader who does what he can to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Path Traveled Before

The sun is just beginning to set, and Grantaire is lighting candles when Jehan drops though the opening in the roof and into the courtyard of the Assassin’s bureau. Grantaire notices immediately the amount of blood on his white robes and drops the wick, hurrying over. “Are you-”

“Not mine,” Jehan murmurs, breathing heavily from the exertion it took to get here. His eyes are dark, mouth set in a frown, red hair mussed under his hood. “He struggled. A lot.”

Grantaire nods. “The mission was a success then?”

Wordlessly, Jehan pulls the red-stained white feather out of his robe and hands it over. Grantaire takes it back to his desk, putting it away in a drawer with the others with a note about the target and success. When he looks up, Jehan is still just standing in the middle of the room, looking a bit lost.

He gets this way sometimes after a successful kill, Grantaire knows from experience. Jehan is different than most of the other Assassins they know. Sensitive. Death clings to him; he has a hard time brushing it off as the others do. He needs to be brought back, gently, assured of their purpose and coaxed to life again himself. Luckily, Grantaire has seen it enough times to know exactly how to help.

He approaches slowly, as though Jehan is an animal that might spook. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggests softly. “And you can tell me about it, if you like.”

A tired little smile finds its way onto Jehan’s face, but he still doesn’t say anything as the two of them move to the fountain situated at one end of the courtyard. Grantaire grabs a rag from the bin beside it and sets it nearby for later use. Jehan obeys dully as Grantaire guides him to sit at the edge of the fountain.

The first thing he does is gently push back the white hood, gazing down to meet the glassy green eyes that look up at him. He can’t help the affection, the desire to _make it better_ , that wells in him and leans in to kiss that forehead.

Jehan sighs, his eyes sliding closed at the contact. He leans into it, murmuring, “Thank you. For this. I know-”

“Don’t tell me you’re not good at what you do,” Grantaire instructs as he slides off the younger man’s hidden blade, setting it safely to the side before starting to undo the hooks and straps and buttons that hold his robes in place. “There’s a reason you’re out there instead of stuck in the scholarly track like me.” Jehan sighs but doesn’t protest again.

Once everything is undone, Grantaire pulls the robes open, sliding them down until white fabric pools around Jehan’s waste, leaving his torso bare. He shivers a bit in the cool air, goose flesh rising on his arms. “The mighty Assassin can’t stand the cold,” Grantaire teases lightly, and the tiny smile makes another appearance.

The rafiq picks up the cloth, dipping it in the water before beginning to run it over Jehan’s body, cleaning away sweat and traces of dirt and blood that had managed to get beneath his clothing. He runs the cloth gently across his face, up and down his neck, long lingering strokes down his back, and finally to his front, cleaning carefully a dirty spot low on his stomach where a sword had slashed open his robes but not quite cut the flesh, leaving it open for dirt and mud to cake against the skin. Finally, he moves higher, smoothing the rough cloth across his chest. Jehan whimpers as the touch strays across his sensitive nipples, his whole body twitching toward Grantaire.

The rafiq stops, meeting his eyes again. Jehan’s skate away shyly, his face reddening, but he still manages softly, “…would you?”

Grantaire reaches out to gently turn his face back. “I’ve never refused you before, Jehan, and I’m not about to start now.” He leans in again, the kiss to Jehan’s lips this time, brief and chaste, but the younger man melts into it all the same, a soft relieved sound sliding from his throat.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, though? You’re not expecting anyone else?”

“Enjolras is out there somewhere,” Grantaire answers, glancing at what little he can see of the skyline through the roof entrance as he rinses the rag. “But you know how he is. He’d rather sleep in a haystack than have to see my face. And if he does show up, it won’t be until much later.”

Jehan nods, peeling off his boots and shifting to let his robes fall the rest of the way off. Grantaire smiles as he returns with the clean rag, running it down his sides and legs. “It’s a pity those robes cover so much when you look like this underneath,” he says as he works, party because it’s true and partly to see Jehan’s pretty blush again.

He cleans all the less important bits first, listening to Jehan’s breath speed and change as he does, turning to little huffs of impatience, though he doesn’t say anything to prod him along. The cloth runs along the younger Assassin’s flanks and legs, then his feet as Grantaire lifts them one at a time to wash between his toes, eliciting a soft breath of amusement. Finally, he looks up from where he now kneels between Jehan’s legs and focuses there. His pretty cock his hard against his belly, thinner and shorter than Grantaire’s own, but perfectly lovely all the same. “So needy like this,” he murmurs as he runs the rag gently over it, feeling his own breath go short as Jehan wines and presses into the touch. “Easy. Let me finish washing you and we’ll move somewhere more comfortable, hmm?”

“Please,” slips out through gritted teeth as one of Jehan’s hands shoots out to steady itself on his arm. Grantaire grins, helping him stand and step out of the pile of clothes, giving the rest of him a cursory rubdown before leading him to the pile of pillows and blankets at the other end of the courtyard, under a ledge in case of rain. He’d had them all freshly launder, knowing Jehan loved nothing more than to luxuriate in a restful, comfortable night’s sleep after one of these episodes.

Grantaire backs him up, kissing more thoroughly now as he lowers him to the soft nest. Jehan whines softly, hands clenched on his sides as he tries to press ever closer.

“Tell me what you need, _chėri_ ,” Grantaire murmurs against his lips.

“Just- just touch me,” Jehan begs. He begs so sweetly, hips working desperately against the air as Grantaire holds himself just out of reach. “Please, Grantaire. Need to come…”

“You will. You will,” Grantaire promises, kissing him again as he leans against him, still fully clothed himself, knowing the texture of his rafiq’s robe against the boy’s oversensitive flesh is just another thing that drives him wild. “Soon. Shh.” He reaches out, trailing his fingers over that lovely cock, drinking in the way Jehan jerks and whimpers at the slightest provocation.

“Please,” he begs again, head thrashing against the pillows as his fingers dig into Grantaire harder. “Please, don’t tease-”

“All right, no more teasing.” Grantaire kisses him again, drinking in the loud cry that erupts as he wraps his fist around Jehan’s cock and begins pumping in earnest. He can feel the younger man’s body straining against him, struggling for climax, for pleasure and relief. Can feel the way he tenses as it steadily approaches, the kiss growing sloppier and more desperate.

Grantaire pulls his mouth away, panting softly, “Come on, _mon petit_. You’re nearly there.”

Tension emanates from Jehan’s body; he stiffens and arches as he rises and higher and higher, and just when Grantaire things he can only snap, he reaches release, coming not on a cry but a soft sigh, body going boneless as he sags onto the mattress, breath coming fast as he tries to regain himself.

Grantaire smiles down on him, gentling his strokes to guide him through the aftershocks before wiping his hand on the edge of his robes and lying down beside him. Jehan immediately turns into him, clinging as he often does after the act. Grantaire runs a gentle through the boy’s wild red curls. “Feel better?” he murmurs.

Jehan nods against his chest before looking up with eyes still full of bliss but fast dulling with oncoming sleep. He is so relaxed now, every line at ease, the very opposite of how he was when he arrived. “Should I…?” His hand makes an aborted move for Grantaire, but the rafiq takes it in his own, pressing a kiss to the knuckles before letting it settle on his chest.

“No, I’m fine. Rest now. You’re done well today; you deserve it.”

Jehan murmurs happily at that, snuggling closer against him. “Stay with me?”

“If that’s what you want, _chėri_.”

Jehan murmurs that it is, and Grantaire grabs the nearest blanket, pulling it over the other to keep off the chill he still escapes with his rafiq robes. Jehan is soon asleep, soft even breaths mingling with the sound of the fountain in the quiet air. Grantaire rests with him, but it’s too early for him to sleep. Unlike Jehan who has been out scaling buildings and chasing guards all day, he’s only been here, rearranging his books and laundering the pillows. He drifts, though, thinking of what must be done tomorrow, the other Assassins who are scheduled to pass through his bureau soon. About the fact that he will miss Jehan when his next mission takes him elsewhere.

A few hours later he is awakened (apparently he could sleep after all) by a rustle from above. A moment later, a figure drops into the courtyard. In the candlelight, Enjolras is clear; the hood of his crimson-dyed cloak is down, the dim light reflecting brightly from his golden hair. He catches sight of Grantaire and Jehan right away, and a look passes across his face that Grantaire can’t quite read.

The newly arrived Assassin takes a half step forward, seeming to jolt back when he realizes the rafiq is awake and watching him. “Grantaire,” he greets softly.

“Enjolras.”

The blond’s eyes sweep over Jehan again, his voice remaining soft when he speaks. “He’s told me about the two of you, what you do. He was never good at keeping secrets from his brothers.”

Grantaire remains silent. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, but what else could it be? Certainly Enjolras of all people isn’t jealous.

“You’re good to him,” he goes on, that same odd look back on his face. “I’m glad he’s getting what he needs.”

“I try to give every Assassin who comes here what he or she needs,” Grantaire tells him. Only a moment of hesitation passes before he adds, “I would do the same for you, were it what you needed.”

A small smile seems to pass across Enjolras’s face, though it may be a trick of the light. “Indeed.” He glances around. “You seem to be rather comfortable there. Shall I put out the candles before I retire?”

Grantaire looks at Jehan, dead asleep and still impossibly tangled with him. “If you would. I don’t want to wake him.”

“Of course.” Enjolras extinguishes all of the candles save the one near the door in case of unexpected nighttime arrivals before taking a seat in the sleeping area, a good amount of distance between himself and where Grantaire and Jehan lie. He begins to remove his armor and weapons.

“Your mission?” Grantaire inquires.

“Fine,” Enjolras tells him. “I’ll give you the full report in the morning.”

Grantaire nods. “Very well. Goodnight.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Grantaire hears the sounds of his movements go quit, as if he’s looking at something. Then after a long moment, softly, “Goodnight, Grantaire.”


End file.
